


Sign Your Name

by sylveondreams



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Kink Negotiation, M/M, Vaginal Fingering, branding kink, in this case they're the same, signing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 13:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20358931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveondreams/pseuds/sylveondreams
Summary: Aziraphale has always had an idea in his head: what if Crowley were to sign his true name on him?





	Sign Your Name

"I cannot see how this could _possibly_ count as demonic work, my dear."

Crowley scowled. "It worked out rather better than I'd intended. How was I to know they'd figure out a way to keep the food warm during transit?" He watched Aziraphale take a bite of pizza. "Besides, if you let _anybody_ order pizza, you're bound to have some nasty encounters."

"Hmm. I do hope you didn't report this as a success."

"As far as they know, I have nothing to do with food delivery."

Aziraphale wiped his hands on his napkin and sat back. "I'll have to keep the menu. I didn't expect I would like that."

"Angel, greasy pizza has been around for _decades_."

"Decades I haven't been eating at home during, I suppose. Don't look at me like that, I _said_ I didn't expect I'd like it."

Crowley _hmph_ed and slouched lower in his chair. "I've plied you with food, what did you want to say?"

"Ah." Aziraphale coughed daintily, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "Well. You know how we've been..." He made a gesture that could be dirty if you squinted or were Crowley, one of which Crowley was.

"Fucking?"

"That. I've been thinking, for a _while_ now, and I can finally ask you, you know, because we're together..." Aziraphale dithered, his blush deepening.

Crowley sat up and leaned slightly towards him. "Yes?"

"I think it would be _very_ nice if you'd sign your name on me."

"Oh?" Crowley let out a long breath. "And how long is a while?"

Aziraphale's eyes flickered away. "Several hundred years, I believe. The reason's changed, but _still_."

"Oh?" asked Crowley again, his voice a little weaker.

"The thought of you taking a pen and signing me in fire has been enough for several centuries." Aziraphale fiddled with his hands.

"Enough." Crowley's mind immediately jumped to imagining Aziraphale lying on his bed, his eyes closed and his hand working at himself, his mouth slightly open, his body shuddering beautifully-

"Yes, dear. Now I just want you to claim me so no one else can. Symbolically, of course. You know I'm yours."

That was Aziraphale, going from insinuating something dirty and putting Thoughts in Crowley's head to being all _lovey-dovey_. Oh, how Crowley loved him. And how he wanted to sign his name on the angel, now.

"I think it'll have to go both ways, angel. I want your name on me as well."

Aziraphale beamed. "Of course." His smile faltered a little bit. "You don't think my holy name will hurt you too much, do you?"

"I trust you," said Crowley, even though that probably wasn't up to Aziraphale. "And if the pain lingers, I'm sure it'll make me think of you."

Aziraphale hid his smile behind a hand. "How sweet of you." The mess on the small table caught on to the energy of not-cleaning-dishes that hung in the air and cleared itself up.

Crowley cleared his throat and pulled his expensive pen from his pocket.

"Not _here,_ my dear, in the bedroom. And I'd rather you use a pen without ink. If that thing writes underwater, I imagine it can put ink on my skin." Aziraphale stood up, straightening his waistcoat with almost imperceptibly shaking hands. Crowley stood as well, tucked his pen away again, and slung his jacket over the chair he'd just been sitting in.

"Do you have a better pen, then?"

"I've had a _lovely_ one for nearly two hundred years," said Aziraphale airily. "A nib pen that I must admit I've-" He stopped abruptly to pretend to cough.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"I really mustn't tell you."

"No?"

"Well, if you _have_ to know, I've imagined the situation many times. I've never felt your signature, of course, so I was always guessing, but between that and a hand-"

"Enough, was it?" Traitorous body. Crowley was painfully hard, and a moment ago he hadn't had anything to be hard _with_.

"More or less." Aziraphale went to rummage in the cluttered rolltop desk against the wall, removing his jacket as he moved and placing it atop the desk. "As much as it could be without you."

Crowley opened and closed his hands uselessly, wanting to move forward and touch Aziraphale all over right there at his desk. "Can I touch you anywhere else? Can I-"

"No," said Aziraphale, sharply interrupting him. "You may not. Nor yourself. Only the pen, my dear."

Before he could stop himself, Crowley let out a whine.

Finally pulling an old pen case from the desk, Aziraphale turned to raise an eyebrow at Crowley. "What a sound," he said mildly.

"I should take it first?" Crowley asked, forcing his voice to be normal.

"If you will, yes." Aziraphale opened the case and plucked the pen out to hand it to Crowley. Their fingers brushed as Crowley took it from him, sending Crowley careening back to the days where they danced around each other, frightened of their superiors' wrath, cherishing every incidental brush of hand against hand. It really wasn't fair how every little bit of the angel had as much beauty crammed into a single brush of his skin against Crowley's as his whole being had in every other way, at least to an unfamiliar eye. Crowley had been doomed since they'd first brushed elbows on the walls of Eden.

His hands free of the pen, and its case miracled back onto the desk, Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie, untying it so it hung loose around his neck. "Finish looking starstruck in the bedroom, dear." He moved forwards to kiss Crowley on the cheek and swept past him, fingers already working to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt.

"Gah," said Crowley, and followed him.

In the bedroom, Aziraphale draped his clothing over the dresser and went to sit cross-legged on the bed, his chest bare. Crowley's eyes went to the rolls of his stomach, as they always did, and he itched to lay his hands on them and squeeze, and kiss, and just _worship_ his body.

"Are you _sure_ I can't touch you?" Crowley asked.

"Do what you will afterwards, dear, but I'd like to feel this raw." He turned and laid down on his stomach, somehow the image of sex even during the simple movement.

Crowley exhaled slowly. "I'll never understand how you can make me feel like this. You're the most beautiful thing in the world, and I feel like writing my name on you is signing someone else's masterpiece."

"Please, dear."

"Do you think it's okay?" Crowley sat on the bed next to him.

"If you don't want to, you don't have to. But I don't think God will take too much offense."

That was what Crowley had been fishing for. Now that Aziraphale had recognized his hesitancy for what it was, he didn't need to worry about it anymore.

Crowley leaned in. "Try to stay still." He pressed the nib of the pen to Aziraphale's back, and it flared up with liquid fire, glowing as it flowed down into the careful lines Crowley traced.

Aziraphale made a sound into the bed that was halfway between a whimper and a moan, and his hands went up to bunch in the sheets.

"Good?" asked Crowley, focusing on his control of the pen.

_"Incredible,"_ breathed Aziraphale.

Crowley's name wasn't very complicated, practically just a symbol shaped like a snake with some extra wiggly bits, and as he neared the end of it, Aziraphale's noises grew steadily louder and closer to pure moans.

The second Crowley lifted the pen from Aziraphale's back, the symbol began to glow black and the angel screamed, his wings rocketing from nothing to stretch stiff to the walls, his body shaking like a leaf trapped in a wind tunnel.

A bolt of panic shot through Crowley - what if he'd hurt Aziraphale? - and after a moment of worry, he pressed his hand flat against the glowing shape of his name, feeling somewhere that this was the right thing to do.

Immediately, Aziraphale collapsed to the bed, his wings drifting down to drape over the sides of the mattress and his back heaving with unneeded breaths.

"Are you okay, angel?" Crowley couldn't keep the worry from his voice.

"I feel like I had a thousand orgasms at the same time," said Aziraphale, his voice hoarse.

Crowley couldn't stop himself from glancing at the angel's behind. The fabric that covered the area between his legs was soaked through, and suddenly Crowley was once again aware of his own Effort. He swallowed. "It was really that good?"

"I feel like I could've discorporated with much less." He laughed quietly and pressed his face into the bed. "Give me a moment, dear, and I'll do you."

Crowley set the pen on the bed and stroked a finger down the crease between Aziraphale's wings. "You think I could handle that?"

"Mm, I'm sure." The angel turned over slowly, his wings turning into only suggestions of feathers and then fading out of existence as they hit the bed. He smiled up at Crowley, his face and chest shining with a soft, warm glow that seemed to reflect from every patch of silver on his body.

"Really?" Crowley climbed on top of Aziraphale, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"Certainly, my dear. I only _nearly_ passed out, and the ache's already faded."

"Hush, angel." Crowley trailed his fingers down Aziraphale's chest and kissed down his neck. "_May_ I touch you wherever I like, now?"

"Of course. But do watch the shoulders. I spent too long in the sun the other day, and I wholly blame you." *

*Crowley was reasonably sure Aziraphale didn't know that you couldn't get a sunburn while wearing the amount of clothes he did, which is why his shoulders were a hot cherry-red at the moment.

"Hmm." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's shoulder just below his neck. "If I recall correctly, _you_ got absorbed in your poetry and didn't move when the sun hit our bench."

"Only because you'd rather rudely thrown your legs across my-" Aziraphale gasped, his eyes fluttering shut, as Crowley's hand snaked into his suddenly undone trousers and fingered at his clit. "Really, dear."

"Oh, you _are_ wet," muttered Crowley, and set the trousers and underthings folded on the nightstand with a snap of his fingers. "I'm not sure it's possible for a body to make as much... liquid... as you did when I drew my name."

"If you come a thousand times, I think it adds up."

Crowley, at the moment, was trying very hard to resist the desire to immediately put his fingers in Aziraphale. Patience was not among his virtues, of which he definitely had none to begin with. Instead, he nipped at the angel's neck, drawing a small whine from him.

_"Crowley."_

"Mm?"

"Nothing. But I do think I have enough energy back that I could draw my name on you, when you're done with this."

"Oh?" Crowley took his hand away.

_"No,"_ Aziraphale said vehemently. _"After."_

"Oh," Crowley said, and slipped two fingers in, hooking them inside Aziraphale. The angel tightened around him immediately, letting a soft sound slip from his throat. "That much already?"

"I _am_ a little bit sensitive," said Aziraphale breathily, his voice vibrating through his throat under Crowley's tongue.

"All of the orgasms?"

"I expect so."

Crowley began to circle his thumb on Aziraphale's clit, drawing a litany of soft gasps from him.

After a moment, fingers curled around his wrist, holding his hand to Aziraphale. "Really, angel."

"Move your thumb, dear. Let me do it."

Crowley withdrew his thumb and focused instead on massaging his fingers inside the angel, his wrist knocking up against the back of Aziraphale's hand. "Is that better?"

"Mm." One of Aziraphale's legs spasmed and knocked Crowley in the thigh.

"Ow."

Aziraphale laughed breathily, distractedly. "Sorry." His leg twitched again, and he let out a soft groan, his head tilting back next to Crowley's ear.

"You could hurt someone like that," Crowley said.

"Who?"

"Me, I expect."

Aziraphale didn't answer, his body shuddering beneath Crowley and his hand working faster. His breathing was ragged. It was all Crowley could do to dig into his neck with sharp teeth and move his fingers faster.

Soon, Aziraphale's legs knocked hard against Crowley again and he tightened around him. Crowley lowered himself to press the shaking angel against the bed with his body, feeling the involuntary motions against him, and a few moments later the body below him stilled, breathing hard and shining faintly with a content light.

Crowley drew his fingers out of Aziraphale, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean of slick. "That was fast," he said around them.

"Mm." Aziraphale shifted to bring his damp fingers to Crowley's mouth as well. Obediently, Crowley took them in. "The sensitivity, I assume." He smiled up at Crowley, his face literally aglow. "I think I'll have a steady enough hand any time now."

Crowley gazed down at him, at his shining lips and his deep brown eyes, and remembered why he didn't do this when he was supposed to be the active partner. *

*Aziraphale had the effect on Crowley that a good book had on him. Crowley could get lost in his eyes for a long time if the angel let him, and he often did. 

"May I have the pen, dear?"

Crowley looked down to the bed, finding the nib pen in the sheets an arm's length away. He picked it out and gave it to Aziraphale, releasing their fingers from his mouth with a final swipe of his tongue.

"Thank you." Aziraphale sat up slightly, shoving a pillow behind his back with his free* hand, and tapped Crowley's chest until he leaned far enough back. "Take off your shirt, please."

*And slightly damp.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the black top he'd still been wearing relocated itself to a heap on the top of the dresser.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes slightly.

_"Angel."_ Crowley snapped his fingers again, and the shirt appeared back on his body, already slightly wrinkled. "It's my clothing, Aziraphale, may I decide how to take it off?"

"No," said Aziraphale, putting a hand to the collar of the shirt. His finger stroked Crowley's neck. "No, I don't believe it _is_, dear." He ripped down, popping the buttons off with one motion.

Crowley let out a shaky exhale. _"Aziraphale."_

"Mm?" The angel pushed the sides of the ripped shirt from Crowley's shoulders, and the fabric vanished. Crowley folded his hands on Aziraphale's stomach as the pen advanced towards him. At the last second, Aziraphale's hand faltered. "You really don't think... it's holy, love, my name, you don't think it'll burn you?"

"Not any more than standing on holy ground for too long, I imagine." Like Aziraphale had known his problem, Crowley knew Aziraphale's. It was the issue of whether a holy name, left on his flesh, would kill him. Long, long ago, in a previous corporation, Crowley had drawn his previous name on his temple in a mirror of polished metal, and although drawing it had burnt his hand nearly to the bone, the name hadn't killed him outright. In his next body, not long later, the name had turned to his current name, and in the next body it was gone. "Trust me."

The tip of the pen touched Crowley's upper chest and began to trace a line in glowing ink along his skin. Crowley gritted his teeth. He could feel light spreading like roots from the line Aziraphale drew, and it burned. It hurt, it hurt, but with a clean pain that tasted like Aziraphale. The pen turned, and turned again, and so did Crowley, from a whine to a louder whine to a moan, and as Aziraphale continued, he had to open his mouth to gasp in air, the feeling of the burning light so intense that he forgot he didn't need to breathe.

All of a sudden, it felt like everything in the universe was passing through him at once, all the painful things and all the more numerous beautiful things, and underneath it all an undercurrent of love, _Aziraphale's_ love, and after forever, all of a sudden it was over, a cool palm on his chest covering the aching, burning mark. Crowley blinked down at Aziraphale.

"How are you, my dear?" Aziraphale smiled up at him, taking his palm away from the guttering flames and pushing gently down on Crowley's back.

Crowley leaned forward as he was bidden, lying with his chest on Aziraphale's, his wings settling down to cover them like a blanket. "Every way, I think," he said through a throat that seemed to burn with a name he couldn't speak.

"Oh?"

"Also like I just had a thousand orgasms." This was true, but his Effort had demanifested itself before he came even once, and there was no evidence of the fact. *

*This was probably so that Aziraphale wouldn't be tempted to clean up, which always, with no exceptions, turned into him eating Crowley out until his knees forgot that they were supposed to be knees and reverted to snake joints. Crowley was not always a fan of snake knees, particularly when the rest of his body was not a snake body. 

"Oh?" asked Aziraphale again, a note of interest in his voice.

"Nothing for you to take care of, angel."

Hands squeezed Crowley's arse through his jeans, and he squirmed. "Be considerate, Crowley."

"Are you scolding me?" Crowley squeaked as he was pinched. "Aziraphale!"

"I'm joking, dear." Aziraphale kissed next to his mouth.

"Insatiable. I'd fuck you if I wanted snake legs, but you _do_ things to me. I can't let you."

"I'm satiated!" Aziraphale's tone was one of mock affront. "You made me _perfectly_ happy, my love."

Crowley scowled. "Imagine. A demon, making someone happy."

"Hush, _hush_, Crowley." Aziraphale kissed both sides of his mouth. "You know you did."

Of course, the worst part of this was the glow of pride in Crowley's chest at making Aziraphale happy. Love really did make one a traitorous thing.

**Author's Note:**

> My footnotes weren't working >:( so I changed them. Fancy footnotes? More like _fuck_. I'll get it right someday.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [sylveondreams!](https://sylveondreams.tumblr.com)


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